everything had worked out in the end—for rafe and sofia.

you were the one who made it happen. the one who listened to rafe vent when things were falling apart, who told him to give her another chance, who reminded him of all the reasons he loved her. you were the one who sat beside him on the dock, watching the sun dip below the water, pretending your heart wasn’t breaking every time he said her name. you convinced yourself it was the right thing to do. that helping him find his way back to her was noble, selfless, mature. you told yourself it didn’t matter how you felt. that your feelings were just noise. distractions. things to be folded up and tucked away in the corners of your mind where no one could see them.

but it hurt.

god, it hurt.

not in a way you could explain. not in a way anyone would notice. it was quiet. slow. like a leak in the ceiling that dripped steadily until the whole room was soaked. you didn’t cry. you didn’t scream. you just felt it—every time he walked past you to sit next to her, every time he laughed at her jokes, every time he posted a picture with her and didn’t even tag you.

he didn’t hang out with you anymore. not like he used to. no more late-night drives with music too loud and windows rolled down. no more inside jokes whispered across crowded rooms. no more texts just to say “you’d love this song” or “i saw this and thought of you.”

it was all sofia now.

her smile. her voice. her presence.

and you couldn’t stop wondering—what did she have that you didn’t? was it her laugh? her confidence? the way she always seemed to know what to say? you didn’t know. and maybe you never would. but the worst part wasn’t losing him.

it was realizing he never really saw you in the first place.